


An Ever-Fixed Mark

by GnomeIgnominious



Series: Scenes from a reconciliation [5]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Family Bonding, Gen, Nail Polish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29882490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GnomeIgnominious/pseuds/GnomeIgnominious
Summary: Verity and Millie paint Douglas's nails.
Series: Scenes from a reconciliation [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2197014
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	An Ever-Fixed Mark

It starts – as so many things do in this family – with a Whatsapp message.

Millie has created a group chat with him, Verity and herself in it. Both Verity and Douglas feel a little awkward – communication between them has been far from great recently – but both want to make an effort for Millie’s sake. 

So, the group chat ends up being mostly Millie and Verity chatting, and Douglas occasionally chipping in with a photo from whichever airport cafe table he’s currently propping up, or sometimes a picture of his cat when he’s looking especially photogenic.

It becomes apparent to Douglas that Verity and Millie meet up without him quite often, for which he’s glad. Millie could use an older sibling for a bit of guidance and life advice, and he thinks Verity thrives when she has a project to work on, something to do, to help with – as he does himself.

After one such weekend where their group chat has been mostly silent because Verity and Millie are together in Manchester, his phone pings late on Sunday afternoon with a photo of Millie’s hands.

We painted our nails :D, the message reads. In the photo, her nails are all painted white apart from the ring finger on each hand, which have a pair of carefully applied rainbows. A second picture arrives a moment later, of Verity’s thinner, longer fingers, the nail varnish exactly matching Millie’s.

Douglas looks down at his own hands. They’re an important part of his livelihood and he takes good care of them: regular stretches to avoid RSI, moisturiser and hand cream to combat the dry air from the flight deck aircon, and clear nail varnish to stop his nails splitting.

But, he thinks, there’s no reason why that nail varnish couldn’t be a different colour.

It’s half term a month later and Millie comes down for a long weekend. Verity joins them on the Saturday afternoon and they get a big takeaway and eat it on their knees in front of the telly because Douglas wants to watch the tail end of the rugby. Millie’s celebrating good results in her mock exams and Douglas buys a nice bottle of wine for her and Verity to share.

Verity gives him a look, like she always does when they’re near an alcoholic drink together, but he just meets her eyes steadily. They’re celebrating Millie’s success and the last thing they need is another argument. In the end, Verity has a couple of glasses but Millie only manages one small one, comically trying and failing not to grimace at the dry taste of the wine.

They finish dinner just as the match ends, Douglas groaning at England’s defeat to a rampant Scotland, and move on from the silently touchy subject of the wine to the relative safety of cups of tea.

“What are you two going to amuse yourselves with for the rest of the evening, then?” he asks.

Millie regards her hands with a critical eye. “I’d like to redo my nails,” she says. “They got all chipped doing woodwork at school.”

“You could do mine too, while you’re at it,” Douglas says lightly and something inside him tenses, ready to laugh the comment off as a joke if needs be, as he’d once had to with Herc.

But Millie just grins. “Ok!” she says. If she’s at all surprised or bemused, she hides it very well. “Verity, d’you want to help?”

Verity is wilier than her younger sister, and her expression is questioning. Fortunately, she doesn’t actually say anything, just smiles too. “Yeah,” she says. “Have you got some with you?”

Millie nods and heads upstairs for her makeup bag. They all decamp from the sofa to the dining table and Millie spreads out her array of bottles.

“What do you want then, Dad?” she asks, and there’s that gleeful grin again, like she can’t quite believe she’s getting to do this. No matter how supportive Gary is, Douglas thinks, he can’t quite see him doing this.

Douglas peers at the colours on offer, and picks three bottles from the line up.

“How about this on these two fingers,” he indicates his little finger and ring finger, “this one on these two,” he points at his middle and index fingers, “and this one for my thumb. And the same on the other hand.”

Millie has immediately cottoned on to the pattern and begins painting the first coat of dark pink on Douglas’s little and ring fingers. Then comes the purple on the next two fingers, followed by the deep blue on his thumb.

Pausing to admire her handiwork, Millie says, “I think I’ll do mine the same.”

“Here, let me help,” Verity says, and Douglas nearly stops breathing as she takes his right hand to carefully paint the nails to match what Millie’s doing on his left.

With both of them absorbed in the task, Douglas lets his gaze linger first on Verity’s face, then on Millie’s. In the depths of concentration they both look startlingly alike; dark eyes narrowed and a curl of dark hair falling over their foreheads in the exact same way. Millie’s tongue pokes out the corner of her mouth while the dimple in Verity’s cheek deepens as she carefully works round the edges of his nails.

All those years of looking, watching from afar, but never being able to touch. He wants to capture this moment in amber, wants to turn his hands over and grasp his girls and pull them tight to his chest and never let go.

The moment is broken by Millie laughing.

“Your nails are so much easier to paint than Verity’s, Dad,” she giggles.

“Oh yes?”

“Well, they’re about twice the size, aren’t they?”

Verity rolls her eyes. “You can talk, your hands are even smaller than mine. And anyway, how ridiculous would it look if I had hands the size of Dad’s flapping about at the end of my arms?”

Douglas snorts and at that, all three of them are laughing.

A couple of hours later and Millie has disappeared off to her room. Verity’s sipping at one last glass of wine (it is rather nice, after all, and she doesn’t want to see it go to waste) and Douglas is admiring how well his nails have come out. Much neater than when he does it himself – he could never manage his right hand very well.

“I think Millie enjoyed that,” Verity says, and nods towards his hands. 

“I enjoyed it too,” Douglas says, maybe a little too quickly. 

Verity looks up at him, and smiles. It’s not Millie’s broad grin – it’s a small smile, for him and him alone. A smile of understanding. 

“I know, Dad.” 


End file.
